Prophylaxis - 1. Chapter 1

“Prophylaxis: measures designed to preserve health and prevent the spread of disease”

-Merriam Webster Dictionary

Ch 1

I stood when I heard the knock at the hotel-room door.

“Be right there.” I called and shrugged into my jacket.

I checked myself in the mirror on the way to the door. My plain brown hair was slicked back from my face and forced to stay there with gel. I brushed a piece of lint from my dress shirt. I liked this shirt, it was a nice shade of eggplant. It was just a little too wild to wear to work at home. I didn't see any lint-bunnies clinging to my slacks, so I slipped on my boots and laced them up. Dress shoes might have looked snazzier with the outfit, but I didn't know what kind of tromping around I might have to do for this job. The clients would probably get all weird and secretive and take me out to an abandoned warehouse or something. No need to scuff up any fancy kicks.

I opened the room door without looking through the peep-hole. I wouldn't recognize anyone coming to pick me up anyway. I fought the urge to take a step back when I saw the man waiting for me. He was leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed over his chest. His dark hair hung in his eyes, and he shook it out of his face as he straightened. He was much bigger than me, but that was nothing new. My skinny ass was five foot eight, maybe five nine in these boots. I was used to looking up at most men.

What made me want too back away was the cloud of pissed-off that radiated from him as soon as he saw me.

“Mick Williams?” He asked, voice tight but polite.

“That's me.” I said happily. I couldn't help my excessive cheerfulness. It was self-defense.

He raised an eyebrow. “Right. Well, I'm here to take you to meet the... to the meeting-place.”

Oooh, he'd almost slipped there. I almost got to find out how big the big-wig was that needed my services.

“Sounds good.” I beamed and followed him out of the building into the dark parking lot.

“My car is right over there.” I said to my tall, dark, and grouchy companion. “Tell me what you're driving so I can follow you.”

He shook his head. “I'll drive.”

“That's ok. I can drive. I'll just follow you. What color is your car?” I said hopefully. I didn't want to be stuck in an enclosed space with him and I didn't want to have to rely on someone else to get me back to the hotel after I finished the job.

A growl rumbled up in his chest. “I'll drive.” He said again.

I fought a sigh. “I guess you'll be driving then.”

He walked off without another word. I followed obediently. At least the view was nice. My driver had dark jeans that accentuated his long legs and showed off a very tempting ass. What can I say, I like good butts and I cannot lie. When he glanced back at me I quickly shifted my gaze and tried to look innocent. No ogling here, no sirree.

My grin was honest when we got to the car.

“This is your car?” I asked. I didn't know a lot about cars, but I knew old Mustangs were yummy. This one was definitely a pretty one.

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Shiny.” I said and slid into my seat.

I clicked my seat-belt and smiled as we headed out of the parking lot.

“May I crack a window?” I asked, keeping my voice fiercely friendly.

He shot me a look. “It's fifty degrees outside.”

“Yeah, it's just... you don't seem very happy and it's getting a little thick in here.” I rubbed my palms on my pants-legs. “Please?”

He sighed. “Whatever, just don't bitch at me when you freeze.”

“Thanks. I promise to hold back my bitching.” I said and cranked down the window a few inches.

The cool air blew in, smelling of damp earth and things wanting to grow. I loved the spring. It was cool tonight, but tomorrow was supposed to be warmer. When I got home, I could open all the windows in my house and let the fresh-air blow through.

After about fifteen minutes we pulled up in front of a warehouse in an industrial area. Yep, I totally called it. The man next to me cut the engine and tucked the keys in his pocket, but didn't move to get out. There was a flood-light on the building, so I could see him easily. When he pushed his hair out of his face I noticed his eyes for the first time. They were a mossy hazel, with mahogany brown around the pupil that was the same shade as his hair. The brown by his pupils spiked out to a soft green. They were lovely. I wondered if his eyes turned more green or brown when the change was on him. The brown color was the same as the eyes of a labrador I'd had when I was a kid, my sister had named him Chewbacca. He'd been a big sweety-pie. My sister liked to dress him up and put tiaras on him. He'd just lay there, content that he was getting attention.

I doubted this guy had a labrador personality

His eyes flashed. “Keep your head down when we go in. Please refrain from making eye contact with anyone but me or the person who is speaking to you.”

This sounded like a rehearsed speech. I wondered if he'd given it before.

He continued. “Should anyone become agitated, please avoid fast movements or running. If I step in front of you, please stay behind me until the situation is resolved. We don't anticipate any problems, but precautions have been taken to ensure your safety and the safety of others. Please follow all directions I give you immediately. Do you understand, Mr. Williams?”

I grinned and nodded. “You bet, and please, call me Mick.”

He nodded and got out of the car. I hopped out of my side after I rolled the window back up. I followed him to a big metal door that opened before we reached it. There were probably twenty or thirty people inside. They parted like the red-sea when we went in and we walked down the narrow path they'd opened up. They fell in behind us, blocking the way to the door. The skin on the back of my neck prickled. A young man with spiky blonde hair leaned toward me as I passed. I could feel his breath on my ear as he did what could only be described as sniffing me. I jerked, trying to lean away from him, but the people on the other side of me were too close.

My escort turned to see why I wasn't still hot on his heels. His eyes narrowed on blondie, who was still leaning toward me. He cuffed the young man upside the head, knocking him to the floor.

“Control yourself, Jamie.” He growled.

The blonde hung his head and said nothing. My pretty-eyed protector jerked his head toward a door at the back of the room. “Let's go.”

I followed him meekly. Christ, I hated working with werewolves.

I could breath a little easier when we got into the small office past the door. There were only a handful of people inside, including a girl sitting stiffly on a chair in the middle of the room. The door clicked shut behind me, I made myself not look at it. I felt like a hen in a fox-house. Do they have those? Every eye on me was predatory. I kept my head down, as instructed, as I was led to the girl in the chair. A big man was standing behind her. He exuded protectiveness. This must be her father.

“Mr. Williams, thank you for agreeing to help us. I'm Saul Thorpe.” The big man said, voice strong and booming.

As if I could refuse. When the biggest wolf-pack in the Midwest wants you to come to Chicago and do a job you don't say no. Not if you know what's good for you. And I do, indeed, know what's good for me, most of the time.

“My pleasure. I hope I can be of assistance.” I said politely.

A few of the others in the room whispered amongst themselves. Thorpe's eyes narrowed and the room fell deathly silent. If this wasn't the alpha of the pack I would eat my pretty purple shirt. Great, and this was his daughter. I guessed I'd just better not screw this up, then. I liked my guts on my inside, not hanging from the light fixtures, thank you very much.

“This is my daughter, Christina. She is the one I contacted you about.” He said more softly.

The worry and affection fell from him to wrap around the girl.

“Has anything changed since you sent me the information?” I asked. I'd had them send me a detailed description of the situation.

He shook his head sadly. “Nothing, she still won't talk. We've tried a few more psychiatrists and a witch and nothing's helped.”

I nodded. “Alright.” I pulled a little bottle of hand-sanitizer out of my pocket and shot some into my palm, rubbing my hands thoroughly. Ah, that felt a little better. I stepped in front of the girl and knelt on the carpet in front of her feet. “Everyone needs to be away from me at least four big steps.”

Everyone that was near stepped back, except her father. I looked up at him, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible. “You too, please, Mr. Thorpe. It'll be ok. I promise.”

He reluctantly stepped away from his child, though it was clearly a struggle. A woman I assumed was his wife and the girl's mother put an arm around his waist. It looked and felt like a loving family, I pushed down a little zing of jealousy. I turned my attention back to the girl in front of me. If it was all Leave it to Beaver at their house, then why was this girl not speaking anymore?

I looked at Christina. I knew from the information they'd sent that she was thirteen, but she looked older. She was a pretty thing, with soft brown hair and fair skin. Before this she'd apparently been a happy friendly girl, if a bit silly. She had friends but no boyfriend that the family knew about. She liked hanging out at the mall and going to movies. She had a pet ferret named Beezle the Weasel.

Three months ago she'd locked herself in the bathroom, taken a silver knife, and slashed her wrists. They'd found her before she'd had a chance to lose much blood. Her mother had been able to smell the blood from downstairs. Christina hadn't spoken a word since. The psychiatrists and therapists couldn't crack her. The witches said it wasn't a spell.

So, they'd called me. I really wasn't just here because the Chicago Wolf-pack would chew me up and spit me out if I refused. I was a sucker for kids.

Her hands sat limply on her knees. I gently touched her knee and then pulled my hand back when she looked at me. She had huge chocolate-brown eyes and she was scared. I could feel her fear biting at my fingers where I'd touched her.

“Christina?” I asked. But no, that wasn't right. That wasn't what people called her. “Chrissy?”

She blinked at me.

“I'm Mick, honey. I want to help you.” I said and held her eyes. “Your Mom and Daddy are right here and they won't let anything happen to you either.”

I felt her anxiety flare. Was she scared of her mother or father? That didn't feel right.

“I just need to hold your hand, ok? Everything's going to be alright, I promise.” I said and slid both my hands into her cool ones.

Her feelings hit me like a fist. It was a tangled mess of hot purples and reds. Ouch. I was going to need ibuprofen and an ice-pack after this one. I closed my eyes and found a loose thread to tug. It unwound hesitantly.

I saw a flash of a girl's laughing face I didn't recognize. Embarrassment hit me, but it wasn't mine. This wasn't the problem. I let the thread go, but didn't allow it to tangle up again.

I pulled another, this was young lust over some boy with soft eyes and dark lashes. I let it go.

I teased free her fears, insecurities, and worries one by one. It was like unknotting a messy ball of frizzy yarn. When I loosened most of the knots there was a tight ball left in the center.

Bingo.

I clenched my teeth to hold in a gasp as I freed the first knot. Terror. My stomach felt like ice. I didn't stop, I grabbed as many knotted threads as I could and yanked. I believed in pulling off the band-aid quick to get it over with. The tangled ball came loose and unraveled.

Fear. Shame. Worry. Guilt. A need to protect. More shame and fear.

She wanted to protect her parents. Someone was threatening her parents.

Usually when I work I get flashes of images and sometimes sound. I wish I didn't, they were rarely pleasant. I'd much rather just unravel the anxieties that were holding a person back and let them do their own self-analysis so they could move on.

I think I'd overdone it this time, though. I got a nice movie playing in my head, though the sound was sketchy. And I didn't even have any popcorn.

I saw Chrissy in a room, not her room, not her house. A man was looming over her, talking to her. His slimy intentions were oozing all over. He spoke to her gently at first. She was shaking her head. From what I could hear he was trying to convince her of something. He called her father old and weak and she shook her head again. The visual cut out and cut back in. A different room, same house. It must have been a different day, Chrissy was wearing different clothes, a cute skirt with a ruffle at the bottom. She was angry, shouting at the man. He was fighting to keep his voice low and reasonable. She turned on her heel and stomped toward the door. His hand shot out and snagged her wrist, his patience gone. He shouted something at her and threw her to the floor. He was on her before she could get back up. She screamed but he smacked one hand over her mouth. He used the other to shove her skirt up and yank at her panties. He wedged a knee between her thighs and I was happy when the visual cut out for good this time. Watching some sick fuck rape a kid was not my idea of a good time.

My normal vision came back to me as I fell back from Chrissy. My head was pounding. I rolled over to my hands and knees and puked right onto the carpet. Lovely. I sat back on my knees and took deep breaths. I struggled to stand, then felt myself being propelled upward by a hand on my arm. I blinked dumbly at the guy who'd driven me here. From the corner of my eye I saw Mr. and Mrs. Thorpe hugging Chrissy.

She whimpered. “Daddy, I'm so sorry.”

My eyes were drawn to the people who had been sitting on a couch along one wall. They had stood. One in particular had my attentions. Oh yeah, I recognized him.

I looked him straight in the eye and pointed at him accusingly. “You dirty rapist piece of dog-shit!”

All eyes flew to the man. Chrissy burst into loud sobs. Shit got ugly after that.